one to fly the heavens, one to swim like fishes
by egelantier
Summary: One time Noctis didn't shirk his duty, and four times he did.


**M.E. 756**  
Watching Ignis' halting progress across the hotel room was doing weird things to Noct's insides. Everything felt slow and syrupy anyway, every movement a heavy, concerted effort, but even amidst all this low-key misery seeing Ignis carefully test each step before taking it, scuff the toe of his shoe against the stool before he could sit down, was a special brand of horrible.

Ignis sat with his back to him. As if he was trying to spare Noct the sight of his ruined face. As if Noct had a right to be protected from being upset, after such a colossal fuck up. Or was too fragile to bear it.

Perhaps he was not even wrong. Noct rolled to his back, averting his eyes. He didn't want to hear what Ignis - or Gladio, or Prompto, or anybody else, for that matter - had to say. Encouragement, perhaps. Or scolding. And maybe he deserved it, but he just couldn't, and couldn't...

"Perhaps," Ignis said haltingly, in a tone so far removed from his usual soft confidence that Noct almost didn't recognize it, "it would be best if we brought our journey to a close."

It took Noct several moments to parse this, and when he did, he shot up in bed almost against his own volition. "_Why?_"

"It's just that... We've already lost so much. Too much."

Noct stared at the back of his head, groping for words. If Ignis, of all people, of everybody in the entire universe, had lost faith in him in such a fundamental way he was offering him an out, what was left to him? What could he do, after such a monumental failure?

And yet, for a moment... For a moment. Luna was dead, his father was dead, his friends were wounded, his kingdom was in ruins. He had no doubt that, blind or not, brought low or not, if he asked Ignis now - if he said, "Yes, Specs, I'm tired, I don't want to do this anymore," Specs would fix it somehow. Like if he agreed, he'd find himself, seamlessly, chilling on some remote farm somewhere, as far away from the war as was humanly possible. Somewhere the Empire wouldn't find him; somewhere he could fish, and sleep, and bitch about vegetables in his food, and forget, and forget, and forget about the dead, about their loving faces.

Ignis was waiting for him, patiently. There wouldn't be tomatoes sneaked into his food, because it wasn't like Ignis could cook anymore. Prompto's parents were dead, too. Gladio would never abandon Iris. The world Noct longed to leave to its fate shambled towards the catastrophe, groaned with the weight of living souls Noct was somehow saddled with. It just felt monstrously unfair.

He rounded on Ignis, furious about this small moment of hope, this temptation. "Are you kidding me? That's exactly why I have to keep going, because if I give up now, their sacrifices would have been for nothing!"

Ignis hunched his shoulders and didn't say anything. He still wouldn't show Noct his face. "And you of all people," Noct said, warming up to his righteous fury, "you should know that better than anyone!"

The anger was a shitty replacement for hope, or will, or joy. He made himself hold onto it anyway.

The sunlit pier of that imaginary cabin by the lake wavered before his eyes; for a moment he could see the dappled shadow of the leaves laying on the warm wood, could feel the breeze coming from the water.

The ridges of the Ring, clenched in his fist, cut his palm. He breathed out, and let the hope of refuge go.

**M.E. 752**  
It took Noct some time to notice that Specs was acting... off. To be fair, it was very early and ninety percent of Noct's energy was delegated to not dying when Specs performed his usual pre-school act of morning cruelty by throwing his shades open, letting the evil sunlight in.

They had a routine down by now - Noct would recoil dramatically and hiss, and Specs would smile at him and say something bland and reassuring, and leave Noct to crawl out of bed in peace, going to the kitchen to entice him with delicious breakfast smells.

They'd done it this morning, too, except that, now that Noct was thinking about it, Specs' good morning did sound somehow strained, and the pots and pans in the kitchen clanged against each other with unnecessary violence. Normally Specs wouldn't allow things to make noise until he actively wanted them to: Noct was used to a small streak of showmanship in him, conducting his cooking with the flair of a TV chef just because he could, and wanted to.

Noct racked his brain, trying to figure out if it was Specs being passive-aggressive at him - but why would he be? Yesterday Specs left kinda late, but it was all nice; they even shared a quick dinner together, and Specs shared a completely atrocious pun with him, and didn't seem angry or displeased.

Noct padded to the kitchen, still trying to figure it out, and emerged just in time for Specs to _drop the skillet_ as he was taking it off the stove. The clang of metal against the tiled floor was deafening; bits and pieces of fried eggs went all over the kitchen. Specs swore, loud and vicious, dropped to his knees and froze over the skillet. His breathing went all funny.

"Specs? Are you okay?"

Specs startled at his approach; his face was blotchy and red in mortification. "Noct - Your Highness - I apologize, just give me a moment, I'll make a new portion..."

Noct threaded through the ruins of his breakfast gingerly, getting closer to Specs. "I don't care about the food. _Are_ you okay? What's going on?"

Specs hesitated, then hung his head. Noct never before saw him so obviously defeated, and found that he didn't like the sight at all.

"Nothing that should concern you, Noct. It's simply that I'm behind on my paper for Professor Fulvia, and it's due today - I was planning on finishing it yesterday, but..."

But yesterday they had to go for the fitting for Noct's formal clothes, and then deal with the charity committee, and then Noct remembered, at the last moment, that he had a history test, and Specs stayed over to help him prepare, and made dinner, and...

"Oh," Noct said.

Specs breathed out and visibly pulled himself together. "No matter, it was my fault for being not being better prepared. I apologize for my behavior, Noct, you don't need to deal with this. I'll give my apologies to Professor Fulvia, and nothing more needs to be said about it. Now, breakfast? We do have a busy day ahead of us."

For a moment Noct was ready to let Specs steamroll him: after all, Specs, with his accelerated degree program, was a model student as it was, and if his Professor was in any way sane, she was going to let it go without a murmur. But Noct _hated_ how it made Specs look, like he was ashamed of himself, like he was somehow a failure for not managing to do everything perfectly and at once, and it just. It just felt unfair.

"You know what," he said, greatly daring. "You know what? I'm not going to school today. I"m not going anywhere today. Cancel everybody. Tell them I'm, I'm - tell them I'm just _not going_. I'm having a nervous breakdown, and staying in, and you have to stay in with me."

Specs stared at him like he just caught him defacing a priceless artwork in a Citadel gallery (not that that had ever happened to Noct). "You have a _history test_. And the second fitting, and training with Gladio, and..."

With the giddy feeling of freefall Noct plopped down on the sofa and put his feet on the table. "So? I'm a prince. They'll give me a lecture on responsibility and let me make up the test, it's not the end of the world."

"But..."

Noct decided that he was already deep enough that nothing was going to matter, and busted out his before-untested secret weapon. "It's an order, Ignis, okay?"

They stared at each other across the room, and then Ignis... nodded. "Understood, Your Highness."

After a terse round of calls and messages Ignis settled down at the table with his laptop, and Noct stretched out on the sofa and prepared for a long day. It was fun watching Specs work, though: he had always kind of imagined that Specs would be polished and perfect at this as well, but apparently once Specs got _really_ into writing, he became hilariously distracted. He muttered, bit his lips, tugged at his hair until it was in complete disarray, and sometimes got up to pace around and gesticulate to himself. At some point he seemed to completely forget that Noct was even there, which was pretty much a first, in Noct's memory.

Noct watched him, and sent cat memes to Prompto, and ignored furious messages from Gladio. At some point he ordered takeout for lunch and put the carton of noodles by Specs' elbow; Specs ate it without really taking his eyes off the computer screen, and even without bitching about how bad those things were for you, despite there being not a single vegetable in sight. Then Noct napped, soothed by the tap-tap-tap of Spec's keyboard.

At seven he woke up to Specs' triumphant "That's it!"

Noct's phone buzzed. He looked at it, muzzy, and swiped away a message from Dad, wincing at the gentle disappointment wafting from the screen. But Specs was beaming at him, looking embarrassed and flushed and happy in a way he rarely was these days.

"Just in time to send it before deadline, Noct. I - truly, thank you. I couldn't have done it otherwise."

And just like that, it was worth it.

**M.E. 754**  
One of the weirder Gladio Things that Noct discovered after they (mostly) got over their rocky start was that while he _looked_ like all his free time was spent in the gym, in fact his free time was split evenly between, well, the gym - and obsessive reading. Not even normal reading, like sci-fi or comic books or pirate novels or whatever, or even frilly romance, which would've been at least hilarious, but dusty ancient classic lit written in barely comprehensible language, and a total lack of anything resembling plot, or adventure.

And Gladio liked _discussing_ it: with Specs, obviously, because Noct's eyes glazed over the moment he spotted one of those monstrously thick tomes, but just listening to their incomprehensible babble sometimes gave Noct the impression that even Specs was having difficulty keeping up with Gladio.

Well, as long as Gladio didn't expect _Noct_ to read the things, for some spiritual training or Six knew what Gladio was always harping on about, it wasn't Noct business. He meekly submitted to an occasional weird discussion hour, and didn't pay any attention.

But then some kind of bigwig literature professor person from Accordo was coming to Lucis for a guest lecture, and it was flat out impossible to get Gladio to _shut up about her already_. He was worse than Iris and her Astrals Unbound obsession, because at least those guys played a decent enough set and Noct could understand what it was about.

According to Gladio, though, literal sun shone out Professor Octavia Renata's ass. She read all those books Gladio was constantly reading, and then wrote some books about _those_ books, and then decimated all the people who had totally wrong opinions about those books, and, according to Gladio, sat on her throne of academic knowledge among the pile of her colleagues' corpses. Which sounded kind of cool until you remembered that it was all about centuries old boring stuff written mostly in iambic pentameter.

Gladio bought his ticket like four months in advance, and was muttering to himself and writing down questions when he thought nobody was listening. Noct rolled his eyes and took advantage of his distraction to get a couple of solid hits in during the training, and then lorded them over Gladio for as long as he could.

He forgot all about the date of the lecture when summer came, because instead of making his life easier, vacation came with public appearances and charity events and speeches and dance lessons and Specs looking like he was five minutes away from snapping and murdering everybody at any given time. Noct barely clawed any time out to hang out with Prompto. He didn't want to think about what the sudden uptick in Royal Responsibilities and whatnot meant - Dad didn't look noticeably worse, but as Noct mostly saw him on TV these days, who knew? - but anyway, it sucked.

And to add insult to injury, an unexpected diplomatic party from Accordo came and all of sudden Noct had an extra reception stuffed into his schedule, one he had to actually _study_ for, what the hell. He trudged to his training with Gladio, hoping that the big guy would for once share his frustration - and stopped dead at the lockers when he heard Gladio and Specs arguing in the training room.

"...perhaps a replacement can be found, if we discuss it," Specs was saying, sounding extra soothing and reasonable.

"What does it even matter? Hell, what's the point of me going anyway? It's not like I'm ever going to study for real. I'm not you, nobody's going to waste a degree on cannon fodder."

_The lecture_, Noct thought faintly. The literature thing Gladio was obsessing over, and on the day of it they were going to be at the reception, Noct sulking and shaking hands as directed, Gladio hulking at his back.

"Forget it," Gladio said, and Noct could practically taste the bitterness in his voice. "The brat can blow shit off to play around with Blondie as much as he wants, but I've got to be perfect for him, yeah? No time to spend on Solheim fucking classical lit."

"_Gladio_," Ignis said warningly, and to his horror Noct realized that he had stepped from behind the lockers and was staring at the two of them - Specs sharply pale, Gladio blotchy and furious.

"Shit," Gladio said. "Kid..."

Noct turned on his heel and fled.

He was still sitting on one of more abandoned Citadel balconies two hours later, tossing and catching one of Spec's training daggers over and over, when Gladio found him and sat heavily next to him. Noct considered warping away from the conversation, but he just felt too - exhausted to try. Exhausted and heavy.

"Look," Gladio finally said. "I'm sorry you heard that."

"But that's how it is, right? If it wasn't for me..."

"No, okay? That was me being angry and unfair and blowing off steam. You know I give you shit when you deserve it, but this is honestly not on you. That's just how things are."

Noct slanted a look at him, and decided that Gladio looked in earnest: apologetic, and angry at having to be apologetic.

"Maybe I could, like... When I can decide this stuff. Let you go? Do you want me to?"

Gladio laughed, startled. "Do I want to be the first Amicitia in generations to leave my holy vocation so I could write a thesis on hermeneutics? Do _you_ want Dad to bite it? And disown me with his dying breath?"

He ruffled Noct's hair, and Noct didn't even lean away, dizzy with relief at Gladio's laughter. "But if it's that's important..."

"Nah," Gladio said. "I appreciate you caring, runt, but I've been training to be your Shield my entire life, I'm fine with doing it. It's just - sometimes - "

"Yeah," Noct said quietly, and leaned into Gladio for a bit.

A week later, Prompto brandished his phone with some online tabloid opened. "Dude! A juicy royal scandal, and it's about _literature_? _The prince of Lucis suborns the visiting professor for a private lecture just so he wouldn't have to mingle with the plebs_? What the hell."

Noct shrugged, trying to look nonchalant. "I just promised her a tour of the royal libraries, it's not like Kingsglaive kidnapped her from the hotel or anything. Those guys are dicks."

"But _why_?"

Gladio had spent the entire evening arguing some weird detail with the professor; they'd almost come to blows, in a stiff academic kinda way, and in the end Professor Octavia had conceded that he might have had 'a sliver of a point." Noct had literally never seen the big guy more proud.

"I dunno, just felt like it," he said.

**M.E. 755**  
_sry man 2much wrk have fun_

Noct frowned at his phone. This was the fourth blow-off from Prompto in a week, and it was beginning to weird him out. He did expect they'll have to hang out less after graduation, with Prompto getting a job at a photo store and him getting more and more princely stuff dumped on him, but it was still - weird. Weird enough that he felt like asking for help.

"Specs," he said.

Ignis turned to him from where he was trying to be sneaky about cutting up mushrooms for the stir-fry. "Hmm?"

"Do you think Prompto's been avoiding me lately?"

Not that he expected Specs to have an opinion, but Specs was incredibly good at soothing platitudes. He'd say something about work and patience and Noct being silly, and...

Specs put down the knife and came out into the living room, wiping his hands. He looked, Noct suddenly realized, kind of embarrassed.

"What made you think so, Noct?"

Noct wordlessly held up his phone, and watched Specs frown as he scrolled through the messages.

"I wouldn't," Specs finally said, "want to make any unfounded accusations. But there's been a certain debate recently, at one of the Council meetings."

"About _Prompto_?"

"In a way. It was brought up that while having friends your age in school was good, now that you've graduated, it would be better for your image if you socialized more within, ah. Within your own socioeconomic circle."

Noct stared at him, feeling a slow burn of rage within his chest. "The hell?"

"No decision was reached," Specs said, hurriedly, "and so I didn't want to trouble you. But perhaps the Councilman who initially raised the issue decided to be proactive?"

He rocked back slightly when Noct surged to his feet. "Six-damned interfering old bastards, how can they - what do you mean, _proactive_?"

Specs went to turn off the stove. "I believe Prompto's shift is going to be over in thirty minutes. Would you like me to drive you?"

They made it to the store with ten minutes to spare. Specs stayed in the car, and Noct went to sit on the stoop; the righteous rage that borne him there burned out, leaving him cold with sick fear. What if Specs was wrong, and Prompto just was tired out of hanging out with him, now that they didn't have school together? Or what if Specs was right, and Prompto decided Noct was more trouble than he was worth?

By the time the last customers left the store, he was mostly numb with doubt and dull hopelessness. And then Prompto came out and saw him, and for a moment before Prompto pulled a cheerful, embarrassed mask on, he looked just as miserable as Noct felt.

Noct almost fainted in relief. He cut through Prompto's frantically babbled explanations by tugging him down to the steps next to him. "Prompto. Did somebody tell you to stop hanging out with me?"

Next to him, Prompto went limp. "...Yeah. A government guy - he came to see me, and..."

"Why didn't you _tell_ me?"

Prompto pulled his knees to his chest and began fiddling with the laces of his ratty sneakers. "I'm sorry, dude. It's just, he said - he kinda made sense? I didn't want to make trouble for you. Like, I'm just me? Maybe it does look weird if you waste your time with me. You have all this prince stuff going, and I don't - it was good enough for school, but I thought..."

Noct clenched his fists. "What's the point of all that prince stuff if I can't even have a friend? You _are_ my friend, right? I don't even fucking care that..."

Prompto smiled at him; it was kinda wobbly at edges, but real. "I am. I'm - I'm really glad, Noct."

But the smile slid off his face, replaced by misery. "Noct, it's just - I mean, if it was just me, I'd totally be like, come at me, government thugs! But this guy, he said, uh, he said he can make a lot of trouble for my moms, and he probably can, and the risk is just - I'm so sorry..."

The rage came back and flooded Noct whole, from his toes to the top of his head. He pulled Prompto into a quick sideways hug, and said, "Don't you worry about it."

In the car, Specs looked at him carefully, and sighed. "An appointment with Councilman Legatus, I presume?"

"Yes," Noct said through clenched teeth.

"Do you know what you're going to say to him? He's unlikely to be swayed by sentiment, admirable as it is."

"I _know_," Noct said, and Specs, wonder of wonders, let it go. He's worked some arcane bureaucratic magic over the loudspeaker as he drove, half of it sounding, to Noct's horrified ears, like _flirting_, and by the time they stopped at the Citadel's parking lot, Noct knew in which office he could catch Councilman Legatus, who was working late. Noct thanked Specs but didn't ask him to come along, and Specs gave him a worried glance, but said only that he was going to wait in the car.

Noct couldn't remember what the man looked like, having never actively crossed his path before, but secretly he kind of expected him to look like an evil advisor from trashy historical dramas, oily and sinister and slinking. The real thing looked like a normal old guy, with sharp eyes and a neat beard. Uncomfortably, he kind of reminded Noct of Specs.

It checked him just for a moment, but his fury was too strong. "Councilman Legatus," he said, cutting through the man's smooth greeting. "Stay out of my life."

Infuriatingly, Councilman gave him a calm, kind smile. "Your Highness. I realize this is an unpleasant situation, and I do apologize for your distress, but surely you can appreciate my reasoning? Eventually the boy will bring more problems than he's worth. Did you realize, for example, that he has Niflhelm blood? Obviously it's not the young man's fault, but the implications..."

"He's my friend," Noct said, goaded into sentiment despite his best intentions. "He's a good friend that I enjoy spending time with. What problems?"

The councilman sighed and sat in his chair, leaving Noct to stand in front of him like a recalcitrant schoolkid. "I do understand that His Majesty did everything he could to spare you the weight of the crown. But we all feel it, and you, too, will have to bear your share, Your Highness."

"Okay," Noct said, "Listen then, Councilman. You think Prompto is trouble? You don't know what trouble _is_. You go near him again, or if you dare to cause his family any grief, you know what I will do? I'll show you trouble. I'll be in every tabloid from here to Niflhelm. Every shitty night club, every drug bust, every scandal in Insomnia, I'll be there. I'll make so much _trouble_ Dad will have to disinherit me just to keep people happy. And it's not like you guys can produce a different heir from somewhere, hm?"

The man was staring at him. "I don't believe this. Lackadaisical as you are, your duty _has_ to be worth something to you."

Noct grinned at him, a quick feral flash of teeth. "When you can take the Ring and wear it," he said, "then you can talk about duty to me. Are we clear here?"

Downstairs, Specs opened the door for him and drove them to Prompto's house without comment. But midway he said, "You've made a rather inconvenient enemy today, Noct. And he wasn't wrong about trouble you and Prompto might experience later on. Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Noct said. He leaned against the backrest and closed his eyes.

**M.E.766**  
He woke up on the throne.

He woke to his father's sword still piercing him - could feel the cold steel against the flesh of his chest, the scrape of it against the bone, the cold of it against his lungs - and then the sword dissolved, fell apart in a scatter of sylleblossoms.

He took a panicked breath, and then another; the air rushed into his lungs. His body was hastily, carelessly knotting itself whole, blood-flesh-bone, reversing the damage; he breathed around the pain of it, not understanding why, and the air was full of dust and sweetness.

There was sunlight on his face. The gigantic mosaic window on the right side of the throne hall had collapsed, letting the sun in. He gazed out of the window for a while, looking at the ruins of Insomnia, stretching all the way over to where the Wall used to be. Under the rays of the sun the grass was shooting through the rubble, vines of ivy climbing over the stone, maple saplings shooting through the asphalt.

He smiled, and climbed to his feet. The stairs to the throne still held, and he walked down, slowly, favoring his knee, still out of breath a little. A gust of wind lifted the pile of blue petals behind his back and blew them out of the Citadel.

He walked slowly through the familiar halls, stopping to touch a picture frame here, a dusty tabletop there. Bent down to pick up a twisted silver trinket off the floor and stuff it in his pocket; stopped for a moment to look at himself, unfamiliar and familiar, in the mirror. Behind him, a sound rose slowly, a quiet sibilant whisper of marble turning into sand.

He didn't turn to look.

Ignis, Gladio and Prompto he found at the bottom of the steps to the Citadel, looking like they had staggered there and just couldn't muster up the will to go further. Gladio hunched over, staring into space vacantly. Ignis sat with his back carefully straight, silent; his face was wet. Prompto curled up on his side next to him, his face hidden in Ignis' stomach.

He saw the blood, the hasty bandages, the bruises; his fingers itched for the magic he didn't possess anymore. But, he decided, it was okay; he could do something better.

His steps were loud on the marble, but the three of them didn't pay any attention, caught up in their own sphere of misery. He began catching the words.

"...can't leave him there," Ignis was saying, flat and exhausted.

"We couldn't even touch him, dude," Prompto muttered, uncurling slightly. "The magic..."

Gladio just growled, low in his throat, and folded into himself stronger.

"Hey, guys," Noct said.

The three of them scrambled to their feet, weapons in hands. Ignis said, "Is this a _joke_?", and his voice broke on the last syllable.

Prompto stared at him, wide-eyed. "I don't... Noct?"

Noct spread his arms. "It's me."

"We saw you dead on the throne," Gladio said. He was slowly angling himself between Noct and Ignis and Prompto, and the hope in his eyes was harder to take than his distrust and fear. "How can it be you?"

"I don't know," Noct said. He felt the laughter bubble up in him; it was a joy just to look at them, just to feel the sunlight on his face. The four of them, alive, after the end of the world. "Maybe the Astrals felt bad after the whole prophecy thing. Maybe Luna gave them a piece of her mind."

Ignis gently moved Prompto aside and sheathed his dagger, to Gladio's inarticulate protest. He walked up to Noct, slowly, and put his hand against Noct's face, skimmed gentle fingers against his cheekbone.

"Can it be you? Are we - allowed - to have you back?"

"Yeah, Specs," Noct said. "C'mon, guys. It's me."

In the next moment he and Specs went down, because Prompto barreled into them both. If not for Gladio joining in and cushioning his fall, Noct's return might've been very, very short.

He didn't care. Buried in the pile of his friends' bodies - and questions, and recriminations, and hugs, and laughter - he looked up into the sky, and felt as happy as he ever did.

Some time later, still sprawled on the stairs with his head on Noct's shoulder, Prompto said, "So, what now?"

"We need to tell people you've returned for good," Ignis began. "People will flock to Insomnia, and the rebuilding efforts..."

"No," Noct said.

This made the three of them sit up; Noct peered up into three identically startled faces, and smiled up at them.

"No," he said again. "I died, okay? I was a king, and I walked tall, and I did my duty, and I saved the world, and I died. I say that I am done, and that you're done serving me, too."

"In your dreams, Princess," Gladio said, and socked him in the shoulder. Ignis' hand found his and squeezed, too tight. Prompto took the other one.

"You can't argue with that logic, I suppose," Ignis said, slowly. "And there _is_ a pretty robust acting government in Lestallum, they're doing more or less fine. But what do you want to do, then?"

"I don't know," Noct said; he felt light, almost dopey, and couldn't help the smile stretching his face. "Anything else. Let's travel again! Let's catch all the fish. Take more photos. Find us a place to live. Collect all those horrible old Sol books for Gladio. Get chocobos?"

In his mind he saw that cabin by the lake again, the cabin with a little wooden pier, the neat rows of garden beds, the bookshelves groaning with books, the breeze gently moving the curtains. Somewhere they could remember how to live for themselves.

Prompto made a sound of pure excitement next to him, and even Gladio was grinning at him.

"Anything," Noct said. "Everything. Let's go?"

He let Gladio pull him to his feet, took Ignis' hand, slung his arm over Prompto's shoulder.

The sun was slipping down when they made it to the outskirts of Insomnia. They walked slowly, laughing, swapping stories, stopping to touch the grass growing through the stones under their feet, listening to the birdsong none of them had heard for years.

And then, just as the sun touched the horizon, there was a _sound_ behind them, a slow inexorable collapse.

Ignis heard it first, and stiffened; Prompto jerked to turn around, but Noct caught his shoulder.

"Don't look," he said. "It's okay. We can go."

He knew without looking; knew from the moment he woke up on the throne. Knew that the towers and the ramparts and the hallways and the rooms and the stairs were dissolving, turning into sand, collapsing into itself. Memories and duties, inheritance and pain.

By the time they crossed the border of Insomnia, the Citadel had blown away be the winds with a quiet, last sigh. The four of them stepped into the gathering twilight, and out of history altogether.

(Noct, though, eventually did catch all the fish.)


End file.
